Chapter 2 - The Red Target
The air in the Grandon Hotel ballroom was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, French champagne, and the suffocating arrogance of Hadley’s elite. I stood near the edge of the crowd, the silk of my blood-red dress whispering against my legs with every step. I could feel the eyes of strangers tracking me, but my focus was locked on the far side of the room.
Nico Rossi stood in the shadows of the VIP balcony, detached from the glittering chaos below.
He was a man who didn't need to shout to command a room. At forty-seven, Nico possessed the kind of dark, arresting magnetism that made younger men look like cheap imitations. His tailored charcoal suit clung to a broad, powerful frame that spoke of military precision and dark secrets. His hair was thick, dark, and lightly frosted with silver at the temples, framing a face defined by a sharp jawline and eyes as cold and gray as winter rain.
He was not just a wealthy businessman. He was the shadow ruler of Hadley, the patriarch of the Rossi syndicate—a man whose nod could build empires or bury them.
"Don't look now," Maya’s voice buzzed quietly through my earpiece, "but your ex-idiot just spotted you. And his parasite looks like she’s about to choke on her caviar."
I didn't turn my head, but I adjusted my posture, letting my shoulders drop and my chin rise. From the corner of my eye, I saw Liam freeze mid-sentence. The glass of champagne in his hand tilted precariously. Beside him, Amber’s smug smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer disbelief. She looked at my dress, then at my face, her fingers clawing into Liam’s arm so hard I could see his winced reaction.
They expected me to be at home, crying into a tub of ice cream. Instead, I had arrived looking like a fire they couldn't hope to put out.
But this was only the prelude.
I ignored them entirely, walking with deliberate, slow grace toward the private stairs leading to the VIP balcony. Two heavy-set security guards in sharp suits stepped forward to block my path, their faces expressionless.
"Private area, miss," one of them said, his voice a low rumble.
Before I could speak, a deep, raspy baritone echoed from the top of the stairs.
"Let her up."
The guards immediately stepped aside, bowing their heads in unison. I looked up. Nico Rossi was leaning against the polished mahogany railing, his gray eyes locked onto me. A faint, intrigued amusement played at the corner of his lips.
As I ascended the stairs, the ambient noise of the ballroom seemed to fade. When I reached the top, the sheer presence of him made my breath catch in my throat. He was taller than I remembered, his scent a dangerous blend of expensive leather, cedarwood, and high-end scotch.
"Luna, isn't it?" Nico asked, taking a slow sip from his glass. "I remember you from the family dinner. You were the quiet one. The one my son didn't deserve."
"I was quiet then, Mr. Rossi," I said, stepping closer, my voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring through my veins. "But I've recently realized that being quiet only gets you walked over."
Nico’s eyes swept down my red dress, a slow, appreciative look that made my skin tingle. "Red suits you. It’s the color of warning. And of revenge."
"You're a very observant man."
"I have to be in my line of work," he murmured, his gaze flicking briefly over my shoulder to the ballroom floor below. "I see Liam is staring at us. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Or perhaps a goddess."
I smiled, a sharp, dangerous expression. "I want to make him regret every breath he took without my permission, Mr. Rossi. And I think you’re the only man in this room who can help me do that."
Nico chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated in his chest. "You want to use me to punish my son? That is a very dangerous game, Luna. I am not a prop. I am a man with a reputation to uphold."
"I don't want a prop," I whispered, stepping so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his chest. "I want a partner. Someone who knows exactly how to make a disloyal boy realize he is nothing without his father's shadow."
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Nico stared at me for a long, silent moment. The coldness in his gray eyes seemed to melt into something dark, intense, and predatory. He set his glass down on the railing and slowly reached out, his warm, rough fingers gently tracing the line of my collarbone.
"You have fire in you, Luna," Nico whispered, his voice dropping into a dangerous, intimate register. "I've always liked fire. Let's give them something to talk about."
